


Excuses

by mithrilstarlight



Series: A Thousand Lifetimes [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-14 22:11:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11217276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrilstarlight/pseuds/mithrilstarlight
Summary: Sansa finds out that despite thinking herself unforgivably rude to him, Willas had apparently already made up his mind about her.





	1. Chapter 1

Fashion is a science. At least, it was in Sansa’s opinion. Never mind that Arya was the one with a mind for numbers. Sansa had an eye for design and, at least according to her family and friends, she was damn good at what she did. Still, the fashion business is a difficult one to enter and so a corner studio in a refurbished warehouse was Sansa’s workspace. She was the only fashion designer in the building. So-called traditional artists were the majority in here, but it was a good spot and she had a nice view of the bay.

Sansa slowly spun the mannequin she was working on. The layers of translucent fabric twirling and fluttering. The easy path would have been to use her family’s connections to get some internship doing the grunt work for a large company and work her way up until no one could say no to her. But instead she opted for a small program in the Vale and left school with a death grip on her vision, even if it meant she worked here.

“Number five: sea breeze,” she whispered to herself. By some stroke of luck, she had managed to get her name into a small-scale show that weekend. Most of the other designers were people like her, trying to make a name for themselves with a handful of original pieces. If she was lucky, one of the representatives from _Reach_ would be there and see her work. But that’s why every designer was there: to get featured by a big-name company and become an industry sensation.

* * *

Sansa loved shows. She had been attending them since she had moved down to King’s Landing for boarding school. Watching her own work go on display was terrifying, though. Exciting and beautiful and terrifying. Backstage at a show was the definition of organized chaos and as soon as Sansa’s five pieces had returned to their hangers, she breathed a heavy sigh of relief. The hardest part was over. Now all she had to do was attend the reception and kiss ass with the right people.

Empty champagne in hand, Sansa slipped through the crowded reception towards the bar. So far, so good. She hopped up on one of the stools and ordered another glass. There were dozens of unread messages on her phone. Most of them were from Jeyne and Myranda, who had both deemed it their “friendly duty” to fly all the way down to the city just for the show and had apparently spent the entirety of it texting Sansa the play-by-play of what they saw on the runway.

“Excuse me,” a voice said.

Sansa looked up to see a tall man, probably a few years older than herself, with a camera hanging around his neck. A professional camera, but he wasn’t wearing an official photographer’s badge.

“You’re Sansa Stark, correct?” he asked as he took a seat on the stool next to her.

Sansa slipped her phone back into her clutch and angled herself to face him. Putting on her best smile, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. “I am, in fact. Can I help you?”

The man rested his elbow on the bar and chuckled. “Yes, actually, you can. I’m a photographer, obviously.” He picked up the camera and gestured with it. “I’m doing a series on small-scale designers such as yourself and their workspaces.”

“Oh,” Sansa said, hiding the disappointment behind a disgustingly sweet voice. If he was doing a series then he probably approached every designer in the show. “Yes, of course, I’d be happy to let you photograph my space.” She opened up her purse and whipped out a business card, sliding it over to him. “I’m in the studio Monday through Saturday. Stop by anytime!”

The bartender set her new glass down just as she finished. She picked it up and slid off the stool. Holding out her free hand she shook his. “It was nice meeting you!” she called over her shoulder as she sauntered off into the crowd.

 _Fuck_ , she thought. _The one person who approaches me just had to be an independent photographer. Just my luck._ She took a large sip from her glass and then exhaled slowly through her nose, eyes closed. The night was young and she had a lot of ground to cover.

* * *

Monday rolled around and Sansa was rolling dresses from the weekend into the studio, feeling a mixture of pride and disappointment. Her designs had been well-received, and there was no shortage of really good shots of the models in them, but there hadn’t been that big break she had been hoping for.

The studio was a disaster. But it was always a disaster post-show. Once the dresses were safely tucked onto their rack in the corner, she slumped down into her chair, looking at the stacks of sketches scattered across the desk. She picked up one of them, grimaced, and then set it back down. She needed fresh inspiration.

Two hours later, Sansa had taken down, rolled up, and stowed away the massive, glossy photographs she had used for the show pieces and put up new ones. Edric and Lewys a few studios down were the most prolific nature photographers she knew and were happy to let her peruse their rejects for inspiration. All it took was a trip a hundred feet down the hall and fifty bucks for her to get enough prints to last months.

Sansa picked a shot of a thunderstorm off Cracklaw Point to start. The material would have to be see-through for layering. And dyed. Blues and greys, most likely, with maybe a hint of green. She cleared her worktable and unrolled a large swath of fresh paper.

A knock at the front of her studio startled Sansa out of her focus. She looked up to see the man from the show, the photographer, standing in the doorway. She looked down at her work, a mess of colors only just starting to take the shape of a dress on the paper. Her hands were equally as colorful, but that was the price she paid for working with pastels instead of pencils.

“Come in, come in,” Sansa said, sliding from her work stool and walking over to greet her guest. She wiped her hands on her jeans, but it only made them colorful instead of her hands clean. “I would shake your hand, but-”

“It’s fine,” he said with a laugh. “I hope I’m not interrupting you…” He trailed off as he looked over at her workspace.

Sansa turned red in the face. “Oh, no, I’m just doing some sketches for a new piece.” She rocked back on her heels as they stood in silence. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I ever got your name,” she said.

“Willas. Willas Tyrell,” he said.

The lights went on in Sansa’s brain and she immediately felt horrible for brushing him off the other night. The look of shock must have been obvious because it was his turn to go a bit red in the face.

“Yeah, I know. This series is a side project of mine, so I wasn’t at the show in any official capacity,” he said. Taking a few steps, he brushed his fingers against some of the dresses she had on display. “So, do you still mind if I photograph you?”

Sansa swallowed the lump in her throat. Sure, there was no way she could’ve known that it was him at first glance, but now she could see the resemblance he shared with Margaery. Gods, that entire family could be models, apparently, because now that she had a chance to look at him she realized that he was _something_.

“Miss Stark?” Willas waved his hand in front of her face, brow creased as he woke her from her daydream.

Sansa shook her head and rubbed her hands against her jeans again. “Oh, sure.” She paused. “Wait, I thought you just wanted pictures of the studio.”

“Well yes, but part of it is to see you working. Pretend like I’m not here, okay?” He said it like she hadn't just horribly embarrassed herself.

Sansa shrugged, throwing her hands up as she shut the studio door and returned to her work area. She washed her hands off in the little sink and then dug through her purse for her phone. There was no way she was going to let this turn into one long, awkward silence. She’d rather he see her dancing along to cheesy pop ballads than try to make conversation. He never once spoke to her while he was taking pictures over the next half hour.

“This is going to sound weird,” he started as he stood in the middle of the studio, flipping through the pictures on his camera. “But, why aren’t you a model?”

Sansa did a double take as she crossed the room, large swath of grey chiffon trailing behind her. “Excuse me?” She wasn’t sure if he was serious or not.

Willas looked up, setting his camera down on the table. “What I mean is, you’ve got the build of a model. What got you into designing instead?”

Sansa shrugged as she continued on with her work. She started pinning layers of silk onto the mannequin. “I like creating,” she said.

Willas didn’t respond, or at least not verbally. He walked over and stood behind her, watching her work. “Do you ever wear your designs?”

“Please, as if I have places where these would be the required dress code,” she said, rolling her eyes. She caught herself before she laughed him off too much. He was getting at something and she was curious what it was. “Why?” she asked, spinning in her seat to look at him.

Willas shoved his hands into his pockets, shrugging. “I was just curious,” he said. “Thinking about another photo series I might do.”

Something about that made Sansa’s stomach flutter and she immediately turned back to her work to hide the small smile growing on her lips. Clearing her throat, she shoved another pin into the fabric. “Well, you know where to find me,” she said.

“Yeah, I do,” he responded softly as he walked back to get his camera. “I’ll be in touch,” he called out as he headed towards the door.

“Let me know how your series turns out!” she shouted as he walked out of the studio.

Once the door had closed and he was gone, she sighed heavily. Gods, she couldn’t have fucked that up more. It was _Willas Tyrell_ and not only had she been unbelievably rude to someone belonging to the most powerful magazine in the industry but he was such a good person and all she had done was make things awkward. There went any chance of designing for _Reach_ had now been thrown out the window.

* * *

Two weeks later, Sansa’s phone rang. She didn’t know the number, but it was local. Swallowing her mouthful of sandwich, she answered. “Hello?”

“Hi, Sansa?”

Oh gods, it was Willas. She cleared her throat and closed her eyes, taking a moment to collect herself. “Yes. Hi. Willas, right?” As if she’d forget him. “Look I wanted to apologize for the show and not talking to you more. I feel really bad for brushing you off-”

“It’s absolutely fine,” he said. Sansa sank down into her seat, mouthing a thank-you to the heavens at his response. “I actually wanted to call about taking some more photos of your work.”

Sansa perked up at the prospect of more pictures. “As in…”

“As in a proper photoshoot of them. I, uh...” He paused, and Sansa’s heartbeat was pounding in her ears as she waited. “One of the editors saw some of the ones I took at your studio and wanted to see more of your work, but I only had things from the show and that apparently wasn’t enough.”

Sansa dropped her head into her hand, leaning against the table. This wasn’t happening. “Okay, well I’ve got maybe a dozen or so still here. One of the ones from the show sold last week.”

“Great,” he said. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he sounded almost as nervous as she was, which was ridiculous to even consider. “Why don’t you bring the dresses over to _my_ studio tomorrow evening. I don’t want to interrupt your schedule, and this is still technically on my own time.”

She smiled as he started rambling. “Tomorrow night sounds great,” she said.

After hanging up, Sansa practically leaped out of her seat and ran over to her rack of dresses in the corner. _One, three, six…_ There were ten dresses on the rack, plus the three out on display. Four of them were from the show, so she’d pick four or five to bring to the shoot. It never hurt to have options.

* * *

Sansa hated driving in the city. But taking thousands of dollars worth of her work on the metro was not an option. She parked on the guest floor of the lot beneath the building and carefully carried the large garment bag to the elevator. Something in the back of her mind had told her yesterday that he was going to follow through on that question of whether or not she wore her own work, so she had spent an hour this afternoon double-checking the measurements on the ones she was bringing to make sure they fit her.

The elevator doors opened and she walked down the hallway, looking for his name on one of the plaques.

“Sansa!” Willas was apparently all the way at the end of the hallway, and had stuck his head out the door to see her wandering around like a lost puppy. “Come in, I’ve got everything all set up,” he said, waving her into his studio.

It was spacious, to say the least. It certainly paid to work for a family company that was literally rolling in money. He had perhaps a hundred photos pinned up on one of the walls and even more scattered across almost every flat surface in the place. And Willas, well he still looked like he belonged in front of the camera rather than behind in his button down and jeans.

“It’s crunch week,” he said, gesturing to the stacks of prints. “You’re over here.” He led her over to where he had set up the camera. “I guess, pick a dress and I’ll pick a backdrop.”

“Sure,” Sansa said, unzipping the garment bag and hanging the dresses on a rack. She picked a red one she had based off of a sunset seen from Casterly Rock. She stepped behind the changing screen and started to strip. She felt it odd that he wanted _her_ in the pieces, as if it were an excuse to spend more time together rather than having a few models lined up and ready to go. “It must be exciting, having models in and out of your studio all the time,” she said. “I imagine your job is a lot livelier than mine. I hardly see anyone other than fellow artists looking for a brief distraction.”

Willas was quiet for a moment and Sansa wondered if she had struck something she ought not have. “It’s busy, I guess.” She adjusted the dress and then stepped out from behind the screen. “But it’s always… interesting.”

Sansa turned pink in the face as she walked over to her bag to get her heels and jewelry. He was staring, and while it wasn’t uncomfortable, it wasn’t something she was used to.

“I take back what I said before. You _need_ to be a model,” he joked. He turned away and started adjusting the backdrop and lighting while she finished getting ready.

It had been years since Sansa had been in front of a camera in this way. During her early days, back when she was still in school, she had volunteered to do some modeling for other students because she had, as he had pointed out, the build for it. But to be posing for a real photographer, and one that belonged to _Reach_ at that, was perhaps a bit more than she had considered possible.

She saved her favorite for last: a ballgown-style satin dress based on the pale blue summer skies of the Vale. She found herself almost sad that the evening was coming to an end. With any luck, this would be a stepping stone to actually getting hired by _Reach_ , but she wasn’t about to hold her breath for it.

Sansa emerged and took her place on the chaise lounge set up in front of the camera. Willas went about setting the dress and directing her on where to look. He gently took hold of her chin, tilting her head up. His fingers lingered for a second, and their gazes met. Her stomach fluttered again, but she’d be damned if she moved now that she was in position. He cleared his throat and rushed off to his camera.

“My turn, so why aren’t _you_ a model? Your sister is,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone as he adjusted settings.

Willas chuckled as he started snapping photos. “It’s not my thing. After I was discharged from the army due to my leg I wasn’t about to have my face plastered up on every billboard the way my sister’s is. I had taken up photography before being deployed and decided I’d make a living out of it.”

“So you went through all that schooling just to go to work for your own family’s magazine,” Sansa said dryly.

Willas stopped and hung his head. “Yes, that would be correct. I meet lots of interesting people as a fashion photographer. More so than if I were freelance.” He stepped away from the camera, running his hands through his hair. “I think we’re good,” he said.

“Wonderful.” Sansa stood up and started shedding her accessories. “Would you mind sending me copies of everything?”

Willas hummed and went into the back room with his camera to take out the film. Sansa reached up and started undoing the back of her dress when she saw what was hanging on the wall. They were shots from when he had visited her studio. Most of them were fairly standard shots of her space and her work. But halfway up the wall, there was a collection of shots that he had taken of her specifically. They were actually really beautiful photos.

“Uh, Sansa?”

Sansa pulled the top of the dress back up to cover herself as she turned around. “Oh, gods, I’m sorry. I saw you leave the room and was distracted by the photos.” She could feel her face on fire as she hurried past him towards the changing screen.

Willas caught her by the elbow as she went by and pulled her into a kiss. It was a warm, soft, and wonderful kiss that she hadn’t realized she wanted until it was happening. When the separated, Willas let go of her arm and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

Sansa stopped him before he could go any further, putting a finger to his lips. “Nonsense, I’m glad you did.” It made her feel better to know he had probably been too worked up about his own feelings to have even noticed how anxious she had been during their last encounter. She watched his golden-brown eyes as they darted back and forth between her own. She could see the wheels turning in his head. “Just answer me this: did your editor actually ask for photos or was that just an excuse to see me again?”

“It was an excuse to see you again,” he whispered. “Leo did actually love the photos of you and will probably call any day now about guest designing, but I may have been lying when I said that she wanted more photos. Plus, she hates it when I use company resources for my own projects. So I had to keep tonight a secret.”

Sansa bit her lip and smiled as he rambled again. “I’ve always wanted to be someone’s secret,” she said quickly before grabbing him by the collar and pulling him into another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May or may not follow up with a part two that is entirely smut or something who knows.


	2. Chapter 2

It seemed almost too convenient that Willas’s studio was littered with a variety of furniture on which models would pose. Then again, she’d rather be fucked on something comfortable than not. And she did intend on being fucked.

Sansa, barefoot and half-dressed, relished the way Willas seemed to hesitate as he first laid his hands on her. His touch was gentle, as though she herself were as delicate as the dress she was wearing. One of his hands went for her neck, cradling the back of her head. The other gently ran up her side and then to her back, pulling her in close as they kissed. As she released her grip on his collar and let her own hands feel their way around his chest, his grip on her back tightened. She was pulled onto her toes to match the few inches of height difference between them as he straightened and came up for air.

“As much as I want to,” he started, pulling his hands back from her body, “I’m not sure you’d appreciate me ripping this dress off of you.”

“You’re right,” she said breathlessly. The thought of it did turn her on, but she wasn’t about to sacrifice her art for the sensation. Her heartbeat was racing as she reached around behind to finish undoing the clasps of the dress. He took her by the shoulders, gently turning her so that he could help. The mass of pale blue tulle crumpled to the floor, leaving her naked save her lacy black underwear.

Willas seemed to read her mind as he stepped back and let her collect the dress and drape it over the nearest chair. Art like that ought not be left on the floor. She reached up and removed the brooch from her hair, pulling it over one shoulder as she set the jewelry down.

His hands settled on her waist and she sunk back into his embrace. He ducked his head, kissing the open side of her neck. She tilted her head, leaning back onto his shoulder as she put her hands over his, guiding them up towards her chest. He followed her lead, and cupped her breasts as he began leaving little teeth marks on her neck. His mouth moved upwards, taking a pause just under her ear to breathe.

“Gods, I want you, Sansa,” he whispered.

She smiled at how desperate the need was in his voice. It almost matched the heavy need growing between her legs. She stepped away from him, holding onto one hand as she led him away from the dress and to the table. She swept clear a space, sliding papers and photos aside without regard to where they’d land. Willas didn’t seem to care either as his eyes never left her. She sat on the edge of the table, spreading her legs so that he could step between them.

Sansa started unbuttoning his shirt as they continued kissing. It was rough and desperate and she wasted no time in taking his lower lip between her teeth and biting down just enough to make him moan while he shed himself of the shirt. Immediately his hands returned to her body, taking hold of her hips with a forceful grip and pulling them closer to his own. She could feel him hard in his jeans. She rocked her hips forward, pressing more of her body into him as she took hold of his face. He took one hand from her waist and pressed her shoulder back, laying her down. He leaned over, yanking one of the wheeling stools beneath him as he sat in front of her cunt.

“Gods, you’re soaking wet already,” he laughed.

Sansa propped herself up onto her elbows and looked at him. “I thought you wanted to fuck me, not stare.”

Willas smiled and hooked a finger through the bit of thin lace covering her cunt. With a swift pull, he tore the lace away and tossed it over his shoulder. “Ah, but you see, my love, you have such a beautiful cunt.”

Ducking his head down, Willas ran his tongue in one long stroke over every fold and flicked up just at the end to catch her clit. A shudder ran through Sansa and she dropped back down onto the table. “Oh, fuck,” was all she could get out.

He worked at her with his tongue, twisting and circling in such perfect rhythm that she couldn’t believe this was their first time together. She could feel the tightness growing inside of her. Gods, if he kept this up she’d come in no time. If his tongue weren’t enough, he slipped one finger into her, starting slow. Her hips rocked in time with his hand, and after a few strokes added a second finger. Each time his fingers reached full depth her breath would catch.

Sansa let out a loud moan of pleasure as he began to crook his fingers inside of her. One of her hands shot down and grabbed him by his perfect brown curls.

The tightness peaked and she shook in her release, crying out with each pulse of her body. Willas held her thigh on his shoulder with his free hand, slowing his rhythm as she came down from her orgasm. Her skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat and she panted. He pulled his fingers from inside of her and wiped them off on her thigh.

“Shit,” Sansa said as he sat up straight.

He wiped her from his mouth and smiled. “I take it you enjoyed that?” he asked.

Sansa sat up, supporting herself on one hand as she watched him clean up his face. Her other hand ran through her hair. “You could say that.”

Willas stood and stepped up to the table. Sansa leaned up and kissed him softly. She could still taste herself on his mouth. Amidst the delicate kisses, she reached down and began to undo his belt.

“Your turn, hm?” she asked with a seductive smile. She could see the desire, or rather lust, in the way he looked down at her. With a tug, she dropped his jeans to the floor. He rid himself of his remaining clothing and then kicked it all out from under him. The knee brace he wore seemed to be a permanent fixture.

“Who says I’m the only one who’s going to come?” he asked as he pulled her hips towards him and kissed her roughly, wearing the same smile she had.

Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on for support as she rocked her hips, rubbing herself against his now exposed cock.

“You ready?” he asked, reaching down to guide himself.

“For several minutes now, yeah,” she said as she rolled her eyes. Letting go of him with one hand, she planted a hand on the table to support herself as she leaned back.

Willas entered her and immediately let out a moan to match Sansa’s gasp. He bit his lip and she watched him roll his head to the side as he started out slow. With his neck exposed, she leaned forward just enough to litter it with kisses and bite marks. She had to mark her territory, right?

She leaned back again, supporting herself on her elbows. Gods, it felt so good to have him. He quickened his pace, sending repeated waves of pleasure through her with each stroke. She could feel the tightening growing again. Throwing her head back, she spread her legs a bit wider. Willas took this as an invitation and hooked one arm under her knee, lifting ler leg up when he returned his grip to her hip.

The tightness began to approach it’s peak and she looked up at him, moaning as she chewed her lower lip. She could tell he was close, too. His strokes were growing more erratic and it looked like every muscle in his body was tense.

Sansa closed her eyes and tightened around him, triggering her own release and crying out. Willas quickly followed, as he thrust into her and then proceeded to almost crumple over her as he shuddered, moaning through gritted teeth.

Hair clung to the back of Sansa’s sweaty neck as she sat up post-orgasm. Willas, still panting from the exertion, let out a breathy laugh.

“Damn, Sansa,” he said before brushing his nose against hers and kissing her softly.

She gently pushed him away and slid off the table. She’d need to clean up and get dressed, minus the lingerie he managed to tear off of her earlier. “Next time we’ll put me on top,” she said as she sauntered across to the bathroom.

Willas had already gone for a napkin and was wiping himself down. “So you promise there’ll be a next time?” He raised a brow to match his devious smile.

Sansa stopped at the bathroom door and looked back at him. “Are you kidding? You’re coming with me back to my place tonight so we can do this on a real bed.”


End file.
